


A Rielle in Tamriel

by raunchyandpaunchy



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Childhood Memories, Daedric Quests, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Minor Violence, One Shot, Side Quests, Slice of Life, Tattoos, Vignette, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: A collection of vignettes and short one-shots of The Edged Lexicon's protagonist Nadine Rielle, showing her life outside of the Sanctum.





	1. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Nadine's childhood, where she and her siblings play Hide and Seek. Of course, The Rielle family find creative ways to circumvent the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the following prompt: "Some people are playing a game, but at least one of them is cheating. What happens when another player notices?"

“...Three...two...one.”

Nadine glanced around the vast courtyard. The verdant greenery of its grounds were offset by the autumnal foliage - wondrous hues of gold, orange and red, like the dragons from the tales her Pa told her at bedtime. In the distance, she could spot Daggerfall Castle, guarding over the countryside like a protective parent.

“Here I come, ready or not!”

She was the youngest of three, which made her _it_ \- an unspoken but established rule that she hated, along with keeping elbows off the table, speaking when spoken to, and the ever-increasing number of things that were now apparently “unladylike”.

She took a breath, her nose wrinkling as she concentrated. A spectral blue glow surrounded her right hand, ribbons dancing and winding around the orb that she held in the centre. She muttered softly and steadily under her breath, careful to say every word clearly as she outstretched her arm.

Slowly, she opened one eye. She was a model student, but her tendency to daydream sometimes resulted in her summonings going pear-shaped. One day she had accidentally conjured a salmon. Thankfully, today her trusty companion stood before her; the figure of a fox, enthusiastically wagging its bushy tail, happy to see her once again.

“Come on, Apple - let’s see if we can find Roseline and Sebastian.”

The pair scarpered across the lush, green grass; ducking behind every tree, peeking in every thicket. Spotting a glint of light dancing in a far away tree, Nadine bounded across the grounds to investigate.

The light shone bright, tangled in the twigs and leaves - magical rather than physical. An errant leaf flew down to meet her, and before she could respond, a chestnut followed.

“Ouch!”

Then another. Craning upward, she saw her brother dangling from the thickest branch, casually lobbing twigs and chestnuts her way.

“Ow! Sebby, stop it!”

“Stop being a cheat,” he responded smugly. “Apple isn’t supposed to help.”

“You’re not supposed to cast Candlelight or throw conkers either,” Nadine sulked.

The boy jumped down from the tree, landing softly on the fallen leaves. His dark shock of hair matched Nadine’s, but his sudden growth spurt caused him to tower over his sister, his frame gangly and long.

“Let’s go find Rosie. She’ll be in the tower.”

Entering the archway, they scouted the entrance, listening for any signs of movement. They were all skilled in Magicka, but Rosaline was the most skilled of them all, as well as the sneakiest. She had a tendency to flit from hiding spot to hiding spot, making her an infuriatingly wily hide-and-seek opponent.

“Wait. I’ve got an idea.”

Sebastian outstretched his hand, forming a brilliant orb, seemingly wrapped in intangible fabric with dazzling beams of light radiating from its centre. She gazed in wonder as the beams and fabric flowed forward, gesturing to the pair to follow its path.

They climbed the spire staircase, its path winding as the stone bricks clung to the sturdy walls, following the glowing path. Wandering through corridors and vestibules, they eventually reached the end atop the highest tower, only to be met with nothing.

“Damn. I don’t know what I did wrong,” Sebastian grumbled, frowning. “Where’s Rosie?”

“Behind you!”

The two siblings let out a shriek as they faced their eldest sister, a satisfied smile plastered across her face.

“Will you two _ever_ stop cheating?”

“Only if you will,” he whined, disappointed to be bested once again.

“No fair,” Nadine pouted, “We _never_ win!”

“One day, dear sister.” Rosaline smiled sympathetically, the wind blowing her golden hair across her pale face. Her family joked that she had inherited all the elven features of her Breton ancestry, her appearance being closer to mer than her other siblings. “Maybe stop using your familiar to find us, though.”

“That’ll happen when dragons fly,” Sebastian snarked, the crimson leaves of the chestnut trees dancing like wildfire in the distance.


	2. Overencumbered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine is sworn to carry some random fugitive's burdens, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the writing prompt: “A character has something in their possession that doesn’t belong to them. There’s a story behind that, no doubt.”

Nadine rustled through her knapsack, searching for her lunch - a thick sandwich stuffed with beef, cheese and a healthy dose of mustard. Her stomach grumbled, craving the taste of home.

She fought through the mountains of supplies and other bric-a-brac she carried - potions, books, her trusty lute should she ever get the urge to sit down and practice, or play to a crowded tavern of a drunken evening. Lifting an especially heavy and somewhat ill-gotten tome, she finally found her sandwich - sitting alongside a cumbersome and sturdy steel mace, its metal glimmering like frost.

 _That blasted mace!_ It wasn’t hers, yet she was burdened to carry it until the original owner returned.

She had been on her way to Windhelm, trudging through the frigid tundras of Eastmarch when the man approached her, frantic and ardent.

“Take this and hold on to it, I’ll be back for it later,” he said, thrusting the mace into Nadine’s reluctant hands. “I’ll pay you good. Don’t lose it.”

“Wait, slow down,” Nadine responded, reeling at the suddenness of the Imperial’s request. “Explain yourself!”

“No time to talk,” he called back, already bounding away from her. “Snitch or double-cross me and I’ll kill you. I mean it!”

Completely dumbfounded by the interaction that had just occurred, she tossed the weapon in her knapsack, continuing on her path. It wasn’t long before another stranger came bounding towards her - a Nord this time, eyes ablaze with fury and concern.

“Did you see someone run past just now?”

Shellshocked, she faltered. _What in blazes had she wandered into?_

“Haven’t noticed anyone,” she lied, probably unconvincingly. The Nord sized her up for a moment, gauging whether she was being truthful before shrugging and muttering his response.

“Well, if you do, grab him and yell. Bastard stole from me.”

She felt awful, but at the same time, she had not asked to be part of this. She also did not consider herself to be a snitch, but was quite ready to find the fugitive and fulfill the Nord’s request. She didn’t even know the full story, for Divines’ sake! She was merely the unwitting conduit in whatever stupid transgression this was.

She searched for the fugitive, to no avail. Then, she searched for the Nord - no sign of him either. She put notes on signposts, asked in taverns, even quizzed the local blacksmith in an attempt to find the true owner, all for nothing. Still, the blasted mace remained, weighty and unwieldy, collecting dust at the bottom of her knapsack.

She would give it two more days, then Adrianne could have it. _Bloody nuisance._


	3. Burnout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "This character is burned out - spiritually, emotionally, and/or physically. They can’t go another step today. Alone or with help, they need time and space to recuperate. Fluffy or angsty - you choose!"

Slamming the book shut, Nadine let out a fatigued sigh. Dark circles traced around her hazel eyes, the dark, soot-like powder that surrounded smudging to join them.

By this point, it was an inevitability rather than mere coincidence. It had been the case since she was a child; inquisitive and impetuously eager to learn life’s mysteries, she flung herself headfirst into anything that interested her. She read so many books that they towered around her, pages yellowed and dogeared as she flicked each page over impatiently, the soft glow of her candlelight spell hovering gently over her shoulder. She took up the flute, and when she felt suitably accomplished with that, she channelled her energy into horse riding, hoping to follow in the ways of the nomadic Alik’r so well-known for their equestrian abilities. She visited her parents’ shop and learned the invaluable arts of dressmaking, silversmithing and enchanting. She pressed flowers, practiced archery, and learned parlour tricks that combined equal parts arcana and sleight of hand. She did all of it because she hungered to learn more. But every time, just as surely as the twin moons shone down each night, so too came the overwhelming tiredness.

It was hard to know when it would arrive, and it was maddening when it did. Sometimes it would happen at a convenient time, when a project was reaching its natural conclusion or when she felt she had gained everything she could from a new skill or hobby. More commonly, it came at inopportune moments - in the middle of a difficult passage, or as she was settling into a larger task. It would overtake her; the fatigue, murky and thick, like a sticky, suffocating blanket of fog she could not dispel.

Her knapsack was a monument to unfinished business - journals full of half-scribbled stanzas and potion experiments; a lute with a string missing; half a dozen soul gem fragments and something labelled “Atronach Spice - DO NOT TOUCH”. It was hard not to get frustrated with herself when she felt that her ambitions and abilities were not quite aligning.

Experience had taught her the best way to take care of herself, although she was still learning. In the past she had tried fighting through the fatigue, considering it to be another challenge to be conquered, but learned the hard way that some psychic walls are not meant to be breached. It was also not the kind of tiredness that could be ailed by potions or healing. The best course of action, after much reluctance from herself, was simply to rest, eat good food and do nothing for a while.

It was a foreign concept, doing nothing, being inept - her mind was always so busy. There had only been one place that her mind had known anything close to rest in her adult life: the sanctum. When she was there, she could just...shut off. Nothing else existed except there, and the people within. There were rules, limits, commands. When the mental got too much, there was the physical. And when that got too much, she had a whole group of people around her for unyielding love, care and support.


	4. Potage le Magnifique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody does dark comedy better than the Dark Brotherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "How nice. Someone has made a meal for their friend or friends. But is it edible?"

“Tuck in - it’s  _to die for._ ”

Astrid’s mouth curled into a sinister smile as she brought the spoonful of hot, hearty broth to her lips. The scent of it filled the sanctum - rich, flavourful and mouth-wateringly delicious. Hints of melted butter, sauteed garlic, seared meat and caramelised vegetables all mingled together to create something much more than the sum of their parts, and the end result looked delightful, yet nobody around the table save Astrid and Nazir had dared lift their spoons.

Vex narrowed her eyes, suspiciously digging around in her bowl. “What exactly is  _in_  this, Astrid?”

“Only the most Gourmet ingredients,” Astrid replied, smiling wryly.

Eyes darted across the table, the dinner guests looking at each other with furtive, worried glances. They had all heard the rumours - the Gourmet, renowned author and chef, kidnapped by a red-and-black cloaked assassin. Conjecture, perhaps, but oftentimes there was no smoke without fire, especially where the Dark Brotherhood was involved.

“Gods, it’s delicious!” Aela said through a mouthful of soup, seemingly oblivious to the looks of concern that met her. Beaming adoringly at Astrid, she added, “Compliments to the chef.”

The silence was painful; the awkwardness palpable. Finally, Brynjolf spoke, barely containing his grimace.

“ _Please_  tell me you didn’t.”

Astrid and Nazir looked at each other, a  _should-we-tell-them_  glance darting across their faces before collapsing into fits of wicked cackling. Tears of unabashed mirth flowed down Astrid’s face, her choked, barely comprehensible babbles being punctuated by Nazir’s high pitched laughter and fist banging against the wooden table. The others sat stone-faced as the pair steadied themselves.

“Sithis, no! You really thought we’d feed you  _the Gourmet?_ ” Astrid said, voice still shaking slightly. “That’s dark, even by our standards.”

“Yeah, plus human meat tastes awful. Far too tough.” Nazir’s mouth curved upward, lifting a spoonful of broth to meet it. “No, it’s dog meat.”

Reluctantly, the dinner guests began to eat, their looks of trepidation transforming into ones of delighted satisfaction. It really  _was_  good. Before long, their bowls had been drained, every morsel devoured, and the large kettle that housed the Potage laid completely empty.

The secret to the perfect Potage le Magnifique, The Gourmet claimed, was what you added to it. The secret to being an excellent assassin was leaving no trace. Over dinner, Nadine asked with a blissful smile on her face how Astrid had managed to get the meat to be so tender, juicy and succulent.

She simply smiled. “A good chef never reveals her secrets.”


	5. Bard Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine confronts Whiterun's resident bard and sleazeball, Mikael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "Anything can be a weapon if you put your mind to it. Your character’s going into a fight armed with the first thing they can lay their hands on."
> 
> Content info/warning in end notes.

It had been a long, thankless day; the bitter, biting cold of Frostfall had made itself known, as had two separate bandit gangs dotting the roads of Whiterun Hold. Nadine had fended both off, suffering only a minor flesh wound on her left arm and a shivering coldness - both could be remedied with mead.

The Bannered Mare was packed; tables heaving with men and mer alike drinking, feasting and revelling. Staff ran around like headless chickens trying to attend to all the guests; fetching drinks, collecting empties and serving food. The bar could barely be seen; three deep to the front. The entirety of Whiterun appeared to be housed in the tavern this evening - Nadine would not have been surprised to have seen Jarl Balgruuf himself in attendance. She let out an exasperated sigh. _Why was it so godsdamned busy?_

Clutching at her wounded arm, she fought through the crowd towards the bar, feeling bitter cold rapidly transition to suffocating heat. She loosened her winter coat, attempting to alleviate the sweltering temperature slightly. As she did so, she heard the guffaws of loutish men; grating and obnoxious. She looked over towards the source - a group of the local guard surrounding Mikael the bard, his ribald gesturing fuelling their cacophonous bellows.

“Fucked like a sabre cat, that one,” he boasted, tossing his blonde hair away from his arrogant face. “It’s true what they say about Redguard women - fiery lovers and filthy tarts, every one of them.” His wholly offensive observation was met by hollers of agreeance by the drunken crowd. Saadia couldn’t have picked a worse time to retrieve the empty tankards, and as if to drive his point home, Mikael laid a firm slap across her arse, prompting further jeers from the rowdy patrons. _Disgusting swines, the lot of them._ Nadine could see the fury bubble up underneath Saadia’s usually noble exterior, just for a second, only to be choked down through gritted teeth as she continued her duties.

“It’s a curse, really,” Mikael sighed, sleaze oozing from every pore. “Ladies simply cannot resist my silver tongue, dashing good looks and enormous cock.”

 _Ugh. Was this milk-drinker serious? He’d probably already regaled the crowd of how women came at the mere sight of him and how his seed contained the cure to Ataxia._ Nadine feared if she did eventually get a drink, she would end up throwing it over this loathsome excuse for a man. That was unacceptable; a waste of good mead.

“What about the Valentia wench?” a guard asked, winking at Mikael. “Conquered her yet?”

“All in good time,” Mikael crooned, chest puffing with bravado. “I love a woman who puts up a fight, and Carlotta is no exception. Mark my words, though - she’ll yield eventually. She’s just as cock hungry as the rest of them, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

That was the last straw. How many women were to continue being the target of Mikael’s unwanted advances?

“Bard!” Nadine barked; twenty-two years of Speechcraft thrown out the window. There was no reasoning with a man this odious.

“Yet another wench who can’t resist my charms,” he smirked to his adoring crowd before turning back to Nadine. “Mikael is how I prefer to be addressed - maybe if you ask me nicely you can sit on my lap.”

 _How fucking delusional_ was _this fool?_ “Maybe if you stop harassing every woman in Skyrim I won’t have to pound your smug face in.”

“Jealous, are we? Don’t worry - there’s enough of Mikael to go around.”

Nadine could feel her rage growing, fuelled by the dull ache she could now feel pulsing from her wound. What little patience she had was dwindling rapidly.

“What I am is _tired,_ Mikael. Tired of seeing women like Saadia and Carlotta trying to go about their day and make an honest living only to be hounded by the likes of you - being referred to as little more than ‘conquests’ and ‘fiery tarts’, as if their only use in the world is to be situated at the end of your likely underwhelming cock.”

Nadine took a breath, her rage picking up traction. “Being ignored when they say they’re not interested, for you to insist that they’ll come around, that they’ll change their mind - their wishes apparently not mattering in your world, nor the dignity of any others when you share your tales of conquest with the entirety of the tavern, regardless of whether they wish to hear it or not. To be honest, I’d rather you just played your lute - tales of dragons are far more believable than you ever pleasing anyone other than yourself.”

A ripple of silence ran through the once rowdy pocket of the tavern as the crowd reeled at Nadine’s words. Mikael scowled at her, a fury alight in his blue eyes.

“Anger is such an ugly emotion in a woman,” he sneered. “Especially one with already questionable looks.”

Nadine knew he was attempting to zero in on her own insecurities. It may have worked, had she had any respect for the man whatsoever.

“Leave the women alone, prick.”

Looking her in the eye, he smirked. “Make me.”

The next few seconds were a blur, a berserker-like rage overtaking Nadine. Mikael had left his lute propped against the bench as he told his tales - Nadine grabbed it, and swung it with full force across the man’s head. The sound upon impact was cacophonous and almost comedic - the strings reverberated through the hollow wood in a dissonant twang as the lute connected with his skull, the lacquered wood splintering off in every direction as Nadine continued to pummel the instrument across the bard. By the end, only strings connected the head to what was left of the body; the impromptu weapon now little more than kindling. Nadine choked back fevered breaths, her mind only now catching up with her body, fire and adrenaline and raw power coursing through her veins. That probably wasn’t the best idea, but it felt damn good.

Nadine dropped the remnants of his instrument to the ground. “I’ll replace your lute when you promise to leave the women of Whiterun alone.”

“Fine,” Mikael spat, cowering. “Just get away from me, bitch.”

“Gladly.”

The crowd was all murmurs - strangely, nobody had stepped in to help Mikael, for all his compatriots had clung to his every word. _Maybe they weren’t as fond of Mikael as he thought? Maybe Nords just liked fighting._ Nadine didn’t know, and she didn’t care.

She’d have to find a new drinking spot for a while. That was fine; Honningbrew had better mead and better company anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: misogyny, racism and clear disregard for women's boundaries/autonomy abound, as well as some lute-based violence.


	6. Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine has some solitude in Solitude. (I may have went figuratively and literally with this writing prompt.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following writing prompt: "Solitude can be a much-needed break or it can be hell. How does your character feel about being alone today?"

The banks of Solitude Harbour bustled with the noise of industry, ships sailing in and out of its docks. The cliffs of Haafingar cut an impressive silhouette across the Sea of Ghosts; the Blue Palace the crown jewel atop the rugged stone. 

Nadine stood, listening to the faint pulsing chime of Nirnroot nearby, wondering how it was that Skyrim’s heaving capital got its name. A boat left the harbour, its sails unfurled, veering west across the calm, gentle seas that awaited.  _ Probably headed towards High Rock.  _ Memories of home washed over her; the gentle waters of Iliac Bay lapping at her bare feet, helping her father dig for clams and cockles in the clay-like sand, the grains sinking under her nails and refusing to come loose even weeks after. The seafood chowder they had eaten that evening had tasted better than anything Nadine had ever eaten, rich with garlic and butter and flavours of the ocean itself, and Nadine had beamed with pride as her Pa had told the rest of her family how it tasted so good because Nadine had collected the cockles and clams all by herself.

A harsh breeze broke Nadine from her reverie, taking her back to the present. No longer in Daggerfall with her family, but in Skyrim, alone.  _ In Solitude _ , she thought with a sad laugh. She watched the boats for a while longer, the scent of salt and fish lingering on the air, painfully aware of how far away home felt.


	7. Witbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine encounters a troll, and her usually stellar magickal skills are sorely lacking. Maybe she needs to practice her cantrips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following writing prompt: "There’s something wrong with your character today. They are not thinking clearly at all and the timing couldn’t be worse."

The white-bright flame sparked and blazed for a second before disappearing as quickly as it’d came. Nadine tried again, concentrating harder this time, only to have the flame die out with a wholly unsatisfying sizzling noise, like cinders dampened under heavy rainfall.

_Well, this was frustrating._

It was also impeccably bad timing. The troll lurched closer towards her, blood and saliva dripping from its gaping maw, its multitudes of void-black eyes piercing deep into her soul. _Breathe. Focus. Try again._ Nadine raised her hand, shakily muttering incantations as she willed the flames to form fierce in her hand, but what appeared was little more than smouldering candlelight.

 _Perhaps frost?_ Nadine knew trolls were most susceptible to fire, but seeing as she couldn’t conjure anything more than a birthday candle, she would have to change tack. She willed the harsh, winter colds of Skyrim to run through her; to cut and bite at this foul creature, freezing it where it stood, but found she could form little more than a few errant snowflakes as the creature closed the gap between them - between life and certain, bloody death.

She didn’t even bother trying lightning spells - they had always been her weakest of the Destruction magicks, and were taxing on her reserves even when she was on top form. _Should she try to calm the beast? Cloud its mind with fear?_ She had never favoured the school of Illusion. Conjuration was her strongest suit.

Grasping her left hand to her dagger, she tried to focus her mind on the words she had committed to memory for years, rather than the rabid beast rapidly gaining on her. Gratifyingly, the purple orb appeared in her right hand: she could only hope that the Flame Atronach would answer her summons.

“Oblivion, heed my call,” Nadine whispered, her voice clear and calm under the soul-wrenching roar of the troll. “Or at least make my end a bloody quick one.”


	8. Nadine Sanguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nadine talks about her one true love: food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following writing prompt: "We all have something we're passionate about. Something we could stand to talk about for hours. What's that one thing your character adores that they'll buy merchandise for, talk their friends' ears off over, or even write fan fiction about?"

“Then once you’ve got the onions and carrots caramelised, you can add in the garlic, and once  _that’s_  nice and fragrant then you can add in the stock.” Nadine emphasised her point by pointing her bottle of Honningbrew towards Brynjolf, taking a swig on the return. “This is the important part - this is where you need to keep stirring.”

“I thought the part with the flour and butter was the important part?” Brynjolf half-grinned.

“That part’s important too,” Nadine shot back, frowning. “It’s all important. The Potage le Magnifique is a culinary delight when made properly! My Ma used to make hers with tomatoes from the garden and dried elves ear and lots of finely diced horker meat. Oh, and she used to put in a septim for flavour…”

“What, like a coin?” Vex asked, a skeptical look on her face.

“Does the idea of money going somewhere other than your coffers offend you, Vex?” Ingun smiled sweetly, ignoring the rude gesture she got in response.

“Yes! I know it sounds weird, but it gives the Potage a wonderful rich taste - just slightly metallic and delightfully complex. Oh, and then we’d have Apple Crostata for dessert, or maybe Elsweyr Fondue if we had guests…”

Nadine’s hazel eyes gleamed in delight as she thought of the delicious treats she so enjoyed, oblivious to the faint groans of exasperation that were emitted around the table. Nobody at the Sanctum adored food quite as much as Nadine; most suspected not even Sanguine himself loved food and drink as much as she.

“...And the important part is to dissolve the moon sugar in the ale, at just the right temperature...it’s especially good if you use a mixture of Eidar and aged Breton cheeses...I like to dip in crusty bread and apple slices...”

Vex wrapped her arm around Nadine’s waist, nuzzling her ear. “What can we do to distract you from talking about food?”

Quite a bit, as it turned out. Nadine had more in common with Sanguine than her love of food.


	9. Window Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikael the Bastard Bard Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. This was initially part of Chapter 9 of The Edged Lexicon but I was ten pages in and there was no smut so I repurposed it and put it in here. Since it was in my smut fic, it does have a few lewd mentions (hence the jump from T to M rating) so if that isn't your thing then give this chapter a miss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Loosely) based on the following writing prompt: "Three’s a crowd. There’s one too many people in this scene, but the third wheel’s not getting it, no matter how many hints the others drop."

Ysolda leaned against Carlotta Valentia’s stall, chatting with her as she craned her neck to better observe the goings on of the other merchants. Much like Nadine, Ysolda was a people watcher, and also like Nadine, there were specific parts of people she liked to watch, as she noticed her none-too-subtly ogle Jon Battle-Born’s arse.

“Gods, you really are incorrigible, aren’t you?” Nadine jibed, sneaking up on Ysolda.

“I’m glad it’s not just me that notices it,” Carlotta laughed, smiling warmly at Nadine. “Says she comes here to study the merchant’s trade.”

“The pair of you should talk,” Ysolda countered, smirking. “You could both learn a thing or two about subtlety.”

Carlotta snorted; surprisingly ungraceful in comparison to her striking beauty. “Ha! That’s a good one -  _ you _ lecturing  _ us _ on the art of being subtle, after we both caught you leching on the Battle-Born boy.”

“It’s usually Anoriath,” Nadine asided, grinning. “Definitely in the market for meat, but probably not the type he thinks.” The pair sniggered, much to Ysolda’s chagrin. 

“Oh, or Mikael the Bard,” Carlotta added. “Bet she’d like to strum his lute.”

“For some unknown reason,” Nadine muttered, casting a distasteful glance towards Carlotta. The pair were not fond of the man, and Nadine had recently made her thoughts on the matter painfully apparent.

Ysolda narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Your opinions on Mikael have been duly noted. Especially yours, Nadine - can’t get much clearer than a lute across the skull.”

“It got him to stop pestering me,” Carlotta conceded, casting Nadine a grateful smile. “Even apologised for his behaviour. Girl must’ve knocked some sense into the man.”

“And I replaced his lute,” Nadine shrugged, finding it hard to feel too remorseful - especially when Carlotta rewarded her with a generous hunk of Eidar cheese and some freshly baked pumpernickel for her efforts.

Making an excuse about needing to pick Ysolda’s brain about Khajiit customs, the two left Carlotta’s stall, heading towards Ysolda’s house a small distance away. They entered the humble yet homely abode; charming and welcoming with its mismatched and cosily furnished surroundings. Ysolda threw a few logs on the firepit and went to fetch flint, before Nadine stopped her, summoning a small yet fierce lick of fire within her right hand and igniting the wood.

“You’re lucky we’re indoors,” Ysolda asided, a faint tone of caution in her voice. “You know how Nords are with mages.”

“I can think of a few other reasons I’m lucky to be indoors too,” Nadine winked, unable to stop herself. _ Magic use was one of a long list of things about her that would make Whiterun’s citizens toes curl _ , Nadine thought with a satisfied smile.

“Remember when you were this sweet, innocent young thing who blushed at the mere mention of sex?” Ysolda laughed, grabbing two faded earthen goblets and a bottle of wine from a cupboard.

“Can’t say I do,” Nadine shot back, the corner of her mouth curling upwards.

Ysolda grinned, the fire in her amber eyes dancing merrily. “Me either.”

Pouring the deep burgundy liquid into the cups, the two drank deep; firelight and sour-sweet berried warmth casting a warm, soothing glow over the pair and everything that surrounded them. Soon enough, the conversation led to the very thing that had led Nadine to Whiterun in the first place.

“I got my note this morning,” Ysolda sighed, idly swilling the wine in her goblet. “Ulfberth rattled my door at dawn with those huge damned fists of his. I answer, expecting half the Whiterun Guard to be there, and there’s War-Bear with a piece of paper. Hadn’t even opened my mouth to thank him and he’s gone.”

Nadine snorted. “Fond of brevity, that one. I got about the same from him when I went to Warmaiden’s earlier. Adrianne wasn’t much better.”

“She was the same when you joined, if that helps.” Ysolda smiled. “Wouldn’t tell us a thing until we arrived that evening, then she and Ulfberth told us all about you and your little escapades.” 

“What was your initiation like?” Nadine asked, suddenly curious as to how the redhead had joined the fold.

“Messy,” Ysolda giggled, eyes glazing as she reminisced. “I don’t think there was an inch of me that wasn’t covered in someone’s bodily fluid by the end of the night. My whole body ached in the best way possible, and I knew I was where I was meant to be.”

“That’s how I felt, too.” Nadine instinctively touched the pendant around her neck as she recalled her own initiation, and the events that had unfolded since. “It’ll be nice to not be the new meat anymore. I wonder who the newest recruit is, though?”

“Whoever they are, I’m hoping they’re less sadistic than Ingun. That girl is brutal with a cane.”

Nadine nodded gravely, remembering her own experience during the gauntlet. “Gods, what was  _ her _ initiation like?”

Ysolda shrugged. “You’d have to ask. She joined before I did. Although knowing Ingun, it likely involved a lot of pain.” Then, smirking at Nadine, she added, “And a  _ lot _ of cock.”

“Wonder how much cock this week’s recruit’s going to get,” Nadine sighed lustily. “I wonder what she’s like. I hope she’s as pretty as you.”

“Such a shameless flirt, Nadine,” Ysolda giggled lazily, eyes like dazzling half-moons in the soft firelight. What little light there was played across her skin, pale and creamy and smooth as silk, gorgeously offset by her crimson hair. One stray strand laid against her collarbone, the red like fire screaming out at Nadine to brush it away, to lean over and take it, to press her fingertips against her and-

The loud knocking at the door shook Nadine from her thoughts. Rushing to answer it, Ysolda threw the door open to reveal Mikael, new lute in one hand and bottle of Alto Wine in another.

“Good evening, insatiable Ysolda. Care for some more lute lessons?”

“Your chat up lines are even worse than your bardic verse, Mikael,” Nadine called over. 

“Seemed to have worked better than yours have,” the bard shot back smugly, wrapping his arm around Ysolda’s waist as she grinned apologetically at Nadine.

“How’s the new lute treating you?” Nadine asked between gritted teeth, hoping she wouldn’t need to buy infinite others after breaking them all across his smarmy face. If he kept this up, she’d keep Skyrim’s luthiers in business until the end of the Fourth Era.

“It’ll do, I suppose,” he mused, idly looking it over as his hands wandered across Ysolda’s waist. 

“Well, as long as you can keep playing your little songs, that’s great,” Nadine replied sarcastically as she opened the door, trying her best to ignore the sounds of sloppy kisses and muffled giggles.

“Nadine - promise you won’t say anything about this?” Ysolda looked at her with a pleading expression on her face as Mikael’s hands pawed over her body. 

Nadine considered being cruel for a second before deciding against it. “Promise,” she responded, smiling back at her friend. Besides, she knew Ysolda’s own guilt would betray her eventually anyway - it always did.


	10. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following writing prompt: "Something’s broken and your character doesn’t really know how to fix it… but they’re going to try anyway."

Nadine’s head pounded, the nearby brushing of a broom cutting through her like a dagger. She clutched her hand to it in an attempt to soothe the pain, but the small movement only served to further her nausea, the cold stone floor beneath her feeling as if it was swaying and undulating. _Where in Oblivion am I?_

Not quite Oblivion, but near enough. Blearing through blurred, soot-smudged eyes, Nadine surveyed the scene, recoiling at the light shining through the temple window. Empty bottles scattered the floor of the sacred building, muddy footprints and spilt wine dirtying the once pristine marble. A collection plate laid broken on the floor, fragments of ceramic crushing the delicate petals of the mountain flower blossoms underneath.

Nadine yelped in shock as something cold and wet splashed across her, turning to see a furious priestess standing above, holding an empty bucket.

“Oh good, the blasphemer’s finally up.”

_By the Divines. Did I do this?_

“I-I’m so sorry, I have no idea what’s happened, I-”

The priestess snorted. “I’m not surprised, considering how deep in your cups you were when you came in here. Believe you asked if any of us ‘fancied a Nadine sandwich’.”

_Hopefully this is a Temple of Arkay, because it'll be much easier to bury my corpse when I die of embarrassment._

“I am so sorry. I have no idea what got into me.” Nadine paused, fragments of the previous night now flooding back to her: a handsome, mysterious stranger who had piqued her interest in the Winking Skeever, flirtatious banter, a drinking contest with some alcoholic beverage strong enough to knock her on her arse. “Actually, I have some idea of what got into me. I can’t apologise enough for all of this.”

The priestess seemed unimpressed. “You’re right, you can’t. Grab a cloth and help clean your mess up, and then I might consider forgiving your misdeeds.”

Nadine collected the debris that lined the floor, sweeping up every shard, petal and crumb that evaded her hand’s reach. She scrubbed clean the marble floor, the repetitive movements of wet cloth against smooth stone somehow soothing her raging hangover. She couldn’t be sure she’d left it better than she’d found it, but made a mental note to replace the collection plate, putting down her own offerings of coin, cheese and lavender as tribute to the Divine she’d grievously offended.

“Whose Temple is this?” Nadine asked, fearing the answer.

“Dibella’s.”

Nadine would have laughed at the irony had she not feared the consequences. “I’m truly sorry. I beg for your and Dibella’s forgiveness.”

The priestess sniffed. “You seem genuinely contrite, and Dibella teaches us the value of forgiving others. All is forgiven, provided you don’t make a repeat performance.”

Nadine smiled, breathing a smile of relief at the mercy she had been granted. “I promise I won’t. I’ll come back with a new plate soon, too.”

Walking out of the temple, Nadine made a note to visit the nearest apothecary, then the nearest tavern. She needed something potent before she could even begin to make hide or hair of what had been easily the most chaotic night of her time in Skyrim so far.

“Oh, Nadine?” The priestess called as Nadine opened the heavy brass doors to Markarth. “The redhead and the blonde you talked about last night sounded rather interesting. Perhaps ask them if they’d like a Nadine sandwich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus deleted scene: Nadine drunkenly telling San Guevenne about the Sanctum. "No, but it's like a guild...but for FUCKING. Yeah. *hic* We've got this...this one guy, who does this thing. Where he goes invisible and..." *giggle* "Come meet him, Sam, nah it'sh fine, they'll love you, it's cool." *burp*


	11. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine gets herself into trouble by getting involved with another handsome and self-assured stranger and stealing another Daedric book. You'd think she'd learn by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the OCtober writing prompt, Regret. Also had a visual prompt, which had a bull, but since Skyrim doesn't have a whole lot of bulls I thought summoning an unbound Dremora would just have to do.

In retrospect, it wasn’t the wisest thing Nadine had ever attempted.

She should’ve learnt her lesson about unlawfully acquiring dubious looking books, but she was nothing if not consistent. The cover had leapt out at her, the Daedric marking on the front enticing her to open, to learn its hidden truths. She was a skilled Conjurer, and a glutton for untapped knowledge. This book promised to fulfill both.

“This is a monumentally awful idea, you know,” the dark-haired mage beside her remarked, eyebrows raised and hand on his hip, holding the book. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

Nadine met the man’s haughty demeanour with a sly grin. “What’s wrong, Marcurio - scared of a little adventure?”

Marcurio smirked in response. “I’ve had more adventure than you could ever dream of, darling.”

 _Gods, what a smarmy prick._ Nadine would have left him in Riften if he wasn’t so skilled at Destruction...and so easy on the eye. She tried not to gawk as he ran his fingers through his ebony hair, his robes sliding down his arm to reveal toned muscles rippling gently under smooth, olive skin.

“See something you like?” Bronze eyes pierced into Nadine’s, as a smug smile crept over Marcurio’s face. _By the Divines, he was worse than Brynjolf._ Nadine’s own grin slipped, mortified to have been caught in the act.

“Yes, the spell tome,” Nadine said, blushing and flustered. “Hand it over.”

Marcurio grinned. “Your wish is my command.”

Nadine opened the book, breathing in the scent of forbidden knowledge - musty, mysterious and complex. Running her fingers over the lines of script, she started to read; the coarse, curt tones of Daedric dialect mingling with common tongue as she recited the incantation. She felt the portal to Oblivion open, the sounds of a thousand souls calling to her through the gate, darkness and murk swimming in her head like thick perfume as she summoned the unholy beast.

The Dremora loomed over her, grotesque and vicious, with curved horns and void-black eyes. The pauldrons of its armour were razor sharp and spiked, glowing with an unsettling energy matching that of the huge, savage battleaxe it wielded. Bright, vivid red smeared its snarling face; Nadine was unsure if it was warpaint or blood. What was clear was that it was extremely powerful and extremely unfriendly.

“Who dares summon me?” the Dremora demanded in rasping, distorted tones.

Marcurio pointed to Nadine. “She did.”

The Dremora snarled, drawing its axe.

“Traitorous bastard!” Nadine shouted over, glaring at the mage as she formed a fierce orb of fire in her hand. “If we make it out of here alive, I’m sending you to Oblivion right along with this foul beast.”

The gap between the pair and the Dremora rapidly dwindled as it closed in on them.

“If I’m going, I’m taking you with me,” Marcurio shot back, the faint hint of a smile curving his lips as flames cloaked and surrounded his body. “Let’s hope I’m half the mage I think I am.”

Nadine wasn’t sure which she regretted more: summoning the unbound Dremora or inviting the handsome yet unbearably arrogant mage to fight it along with her. She blasted the beast with a furious fireball, the impact causing the Dremora to recoil as Marcurio’s lightning bolt hit it square in the chest.

“Let’s hope I don’t boot your sorry arse when I’m done,” Nadine muttered, a trail of smoke lingering above her hand in the fireball’s wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book: UNBOUND DREMORA: DO NOT SUMMON.
> 
> Nadine: I don't know what I expected.


	12. Dancing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Nadine's past, and her first foray into becoming an adventurer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the OCtober writing prompt: bonus, three random words. Mine were elbow, slap, and save.
> 
> Trigger warning for some light violence (one instance of face-slapping).

Daggerfall City heaved with people, masses of bodies twisting and tumbling from every side street as the town square bustled with activity. Colourful ribbons and bunting trailed from every post and street lamp, snaking and twirling down to join the bright, gorgeous blossoms of flowers that nestled prettily in sturdy oak barrels. Noises of loud, unfettered mirth could be heard from every direction; the scent of spices and honey and roasted meat floating through the air along with them. The sun shone down fiercely, only partially blocked out by the banner overhead that read, “Merriment and Mirth on Dancing Day”.

Nadine tugged at her dress, trying to lessen her discomfort. She hated dresses. Her head hurt, too, where her hair had been twisted and pulled into tight, uniform braids by her sister Rosaline, who had little patience for her youngest sibling’s whines and pouts of indignance. She took some solace in finding that her brother had suffered a similar fate, giggling when she saw him emerge in a waistcoat and pair of puffy, short breeches, hair coiffed and sullen-faced. Their parents had fussed and cooed over them all, Rosaline being the only one of the three who took any enjoyment from the spectacle, while Nadine and Sebastian groused and pulled at the itchy, cumbersome fabric.

“Stop fussing, children, you look darling in your outfits," their mother had scolded, her regal stature and own ornately embellished dress making her rival even the High Queen. “You want to look your best on Dancing Day, don’t you?”

Nadine stopped grasping at the fabric, but continued pouting sullenly back at her mother. The woman let out a sigh, a small hint of warmth sparkling in her seafoam eyes.

“Oh, Nadine. Such a restless spirit,” she said, shaking her head ruefully before turning to Sebastian. “Now, we’re not going to have a repeat of last year, are we, Sebby?”

Sebastian stared at the ground guiltily. “No, Ma.”

“Glad to hear it. That poor baker had to feed his entire stock of loaves to the pigeons after your Flame magic burnt them to cinders.”

Sebastian bit his lip, stifling a nervous giggle. His mother choked back an exasperated sigh in response.

“Just keep an eye on your younger sister, won’t you?”

The pair turned round to where Nadine had been, only to find the space now vacant.

 

* * *

 

Nadine elbowed her way through the crowd, quickly and nimbly ducking through the throng of merry, drunken revellers. _Today, she would have her own adventures. She didn’t need Sebastian or Rosaline to baby her all day - she could take care of herself. She wouldn’t nearly burn a bakery down, either._ Ducking down a side street, she struggled to walk properly as the heels of her shoes caught in the cobblestone, making her stagger and stumble along clumsily. _Why did adults insist on wearing such silly, impractical things?_

The sharp, pained cry of a woman stopped Nadine in her tracks. She raised her hand, the purple orb forming in it slowly but surely, just as she had been practicing. Muttering the words she had memorised under her breath, she saw her familiar friend form next to her, tail wagging and head cocked in patient curiosity.

“Follow the noises, Apple,” she whispered, following the spectred fox to the origin of the cry. They twisted round two more side alleys before reaching a city guard accosting a Khajiit woman in rags, his hand gripping her fur-covered elbow with a startling intensity as he snarled in her face.

“What in Oblivion do you think you were doing in the market? Stealing something, no doubt,” the guard sneered, flecks of spittle spraying on the Khajiit’s terrified face. “You shouldn’t even be in the damned city.”

“This one promises she did not take anything,” the woman said, ears twitching and voice shaking. “Please, let me go, I’ll leave-”

The guard slapped the Khajiit’s face, making her recoil in startled agony, gripping her cheek as she curled into a defensive ball on the cold, hard cobblestone.

Nadine didn’t think. She just ran. Fancy shoes click-clacked against stone as she sprinted towards the pair, frenzied and furious.

“How _dare_ you!” Nadine bellowed, red-faced and eyes blazing, her voice shaking with emotion. “Leave her alone at once, you awful man!”

The pair turned around, startled at the intrusion. Of all the things they had expected to see, a seven year-old girl in a party dress was likely not among them. The Khajiit’s eyes only grew more fearful, and the guard’s eyes burned with rage.

“Where are your parents, brat?” he spat at Nadine.

Startled, Nadine realised she had no idea. She was alone, lost in a side alley, having just challenged a man thrice her size. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so brave.

The guard let out a cold, cruel laugh, obviously noticing her change in demeanour. “Oh, what happened to the big, scary firesprite?” He asked in mocking tones as he drew his sword, sneering as he struck Apple and watched it crumble into a pile of sparks before disappearing completely. “Not so scary without your little friend to protect you, eh?”

Tears formed in Nadine’s eyes. _Divines save me. Please. Don’t let this horrible man hurt me._

The guard was too busy tormenting Nadine to notice the Khajiit woman whispering words under her breath, green clouds forming and swimming gently in her hands as she spoke. Silently, she cast the incantation on the guard, his menacing demeanour rapidly changing to softness and concern as the Calm spell took effect.

“What’s wrong, little girl? Are you lost?” the guard asked, evidently unaware of his previous actions.

Nadine glanced at the Khajiit woman, trying to work out what had happened. The woman only mouthed: _go._

“I...I’m fine,” Nadine lied, dusting herself off and clambering to leave. “I have to go, my parents are waiting for me.”

She turned to thank the Khajiit silently for saving her, but she was gone.


	13. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine's period hits at a really inopportune time, and she is not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following OCtober prompts: 4th Wall and Catharsis. It's a bit of a mix of both.

Nadine awoke on Turdas morning, her stomach aching and smallclothes stained scarlet. _Oh, fucking wonderful._

It had been almost a week since she had last been granted release. She had been waiting with eager anticipation for her visit to the Sanctum this week. Then, with bitterly accurate timing, her monthly visitor arrived, putting paid to her plans. _At least the concoctions Ingun was making her drink were working_ , she thought with a sigh.

Rifling through her satchel, she retrieved her writing set. Frantically, she scribbled a brusque note to Adrianne, huffing through her nose as her quill scratched angrily along the paper. Sealing the letter with wax and stamping with her pendant, she left the letter on the desk to let the seal harden as she retrieved another roll of paper. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she began scrawling furiously.  
  


_To whichever Divine or Daedra it may concern,_

_I hope you’re having a bloody good laugh._

_Really? You wait right until the day before I’m due to go to the Sanctum to ruin both my plans and my smallclothes? Knowing full well it’s been six long, torturous days and it’s the one thing I’ve been looking forward to? But no, you’re right, getting blood stains out of all my smalls and rags is just as much fun as getting my brains fucked out. Silly me._

_The sadists in the Sanctum could take a lesson from you miserable bastards._

_Please go fuck yourselves, because I cannot._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Nadine Rielle_

Nadine shook the letter with startling ferocity, as if willing the words to fly off the paper. She took it in her hands, crumpling it into a crude ball, and engulfed it in magefire, watching as the edges of the paper curled and the ink burned green-blue. Soon, all that was left were ashes, and she blew them out of the window of her room with a small satisfaction.

It wasn’t much, but it made her feel a little better.


	14. Farewell Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine arrives in Skyrim, after adventuring across High Rock. Amongst the crowd, homesickness settles in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt of a random TV trope - mine was Alone in a Crowd. Some delicious angst and melancholia.
> 
> This chapter is also named after the Boards of Canada song of the same name. Listening to it while reading for the ultimate melancholic ambient experience is highly recommended.

The gentle rock of the ship sailing against the waves cradled Nadine like a babe in its mother’s arms, soothing and pure. It calmed her melancholy a little, but not entirely, and the dull ache of loneliness and homesickness still settled uneasily in her chest; a knot unable to be untangled, a seed unable to be prised out.

She let the crowd lead her to Solitude, reflecting on the dichotomy of the name of the city against its evident population. Many of her fellow travellers made a beeline for the local inn, the wooden sign above declaring it _The Winking Skeever_. Ordinarily, the name would have made her smile, or at least would have piqued her interest, but Nadine had little energy to do more than just enter the tavern and head to the counter.

Somehow she jostled through the heaving mass of bodies, eventually making it to the front where she paid an Imperial man for a bottle of mead and a room for the night. _Gods, prices were steep here. Was this true for Skyrim in general, or just the nation’s capital?_

Nadine fought through the rowdy patrons, finally locating an empty chair beside a sullen-faced Nord woman. When asked if she could sit in the vacant seat, the woman simply shrugged, as if Nadine’s presence was somewhere between inconsequential and inconvenient.

Nadine shrank into the rickety wooden chair, sipping from the bottle - _Black-Briar Mead_ , according to the label. It tasted pleasant enough, but she found herself not really enjoying it - any of it, really. The mead, the music, the company. She already missed Daggerfall desperately, her heart aching for home. Instinctively, she clasped her hand around the dagger fastened to her thigh, freeing it from its leather sheath and admiring the intricate craftsmanship - gorgeous, jade-toned glass, sharpened and worked to a razor-fine edge by Yannick Beauchamp back in Daggerfall City. The enchantment that shimmered across the blade had been added by her father - years of arcane knowledge distilled down into one solid piece of metal and glass.

She sighed, turning the handle of the dagger around in her palm. _This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?_ _To adventure across the land, seeing the great sights of Skyrim and beyond, exploring everything Tamriel has to offer?_ She took another long swig of her mead, watching the way her blade glinted in the firelight, green-blue and gorgeous.

This _was_ what she wanted. She could still feel the rush of her first successful expedition - tiptoeing her way through the cavern with the other two explorers she’d met, making short work of the wolves and spriggans that lurked in the shadows, cracking the crypt’s codes and finding the hidden treasure. It was just like a storybook. As they had set up camp for the evening, they'd all laughed easily, talking of past experiences and future dreams. They had travelled on like that, reaching Wayrest before going their separate ways.

Nadine had hurt at how easily they had said goodbye, as if their parting was a trivial event. She felt that she had grown close to the travellers, but perhaps they only saw her as a casual acquaintance? The revelation stung like an arrow to the heart. She didn’t know what was worse - having her friendship be unreciprocated, or feeling like an outsider.

This is how she’d felt with the second group of adventurers she’d met, their bonds already established and Nadine constantly feeling that she was impeding, always on the outskirts and never quite part of the fold. After they had ventured through the abandoned castle and recovered the broken shield, she had politely made her excuses and parted ways. Their indifference to her leaving stung less, but it still stung, and as she curled up in her bed at the inn that night - her first actual bed in weeks - she allowed herself to cry, the warm, wet tears pouring freely down her face into the down pillow.

Nadine loved people - it was the emotions that came with them she found so difficult. She grew attached to people too easily, and much too quickly, but at the same time had been betrayed one time too many. Her sister Rosaline had invoked her ire one day when, after a fight with her friend Constance, had vowed never to speak to the girl again. When Nadine told her elder sister of her intention, she'd simply laughed and replied, “Dear sister, I know you’re a fire mage, but do you _really_ need to burn so many bridges?”

Nadine’s eyes had drawn daggers at Rosaline, rankling at the accusation. _Who in Oblivion was she to judge?_

To this day, Rosaline’s words still gnawed at Nadine. She knew they shouldn’t - Rosaline was a social climber, favouring ladders over bridges, and would step on anyone’s head as soon as look at them if she could climb another rung. Constance had been no better. She didn’t regret her choices, but like anything, there was a grain of truth in her sister’s words. Perhaps she did need to change her approach - this was intended to be a new start, after all.

Finishing her mead, Nadine retired to her room. Tomorrow, perhaps the bustle of Solitude would be more inviting; the beauty of Skyrim more ready to present itself. Tonight, the mess of people was stifling, only serving to remind her that she was truly at her loneliest when in a crowd.


	15. Golden Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine takes the day off from exploring to have her own adventures in Riften with Gwilin. There's still some bloodshed involved, but there's also crostata, cocktails and a very attractive Orc lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the OCtober prompt "A Day in the Life", which for Nadine consists of getting a tattoo and day drinking with her new best Bosmer pal. Tooth-rotting fluff. Named after a song by the band Whitney.
> 
> Side note: my headcanon is that the nightshade drawing Nadine found was drawn by Rhiannon from [The Book of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172207/chapters/24939723).
> 
> Not overtly naughty, but there's one or two lewd nods. Mostly fairly wholesome, though.

Copper, russet and gold-toned leaves littered the streets of Riften, the chill of Frostfall beginning to creep into the city. Nadine could see her breath in front of her as she watched the merchants set up their stands in the marketplace; Madesi proudly presenting his handcrafted Saxhleel jewellery, Brand-Shei whistling away as he assembled his wares, Grelka grumbling as she hoisted a pair of steel boots onto her stall. As Nadine picked apart her snowberry crostata in an attempt to eat it as gracefully as she could, she wondered if Brynjolf would be setting up shop at his stand in the corner, peddling whichever ‘miracle cure’ he was touting this week. She felt her heart jolt as she thought of the thief, cheeks reddening and stomach fluttering. _Gods, it’s utterly ridiculous how smitten I am. Pull yourself together, Rielle._ She finished her crostata, brushing the errant pastry from her dress as she tried to brush the thoughts of Brynjolf from her mind.

“Miss Nadine! Sorry I’m late,” a soft, friendly voice called out from behind her, shaking her from her reverie. She turned around, smiling when she saw the familiar face of the Bosmer, gentle and kind and slightly rosied from the cold weather.

“Not late at all, Gwilin,” she smiled as the two joined in a friendly embrace, his chin resting against her shoulder. Even by Bosmer standards, he wasn’t very tall, but Nadine liked that about him - she herself was on the short side and it made a refreshing change of pace from having to crane her neck upwards to look at great hulking Nords or tall, imposing Altmer. As she pulled away, she looked at his worried face, and continued reassuring him. “Hasn’t even gone Nine Bells - we’ve still plenty of time. Marise isn’t even at her stand yet.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gwilin sighed with relief. “I thought I’d slept in.”

“Did nobody think to give you a wake-up call down in the Flagon?” Nadine teased, grinning as Gwilin’s face bloomed into a deep blush that crept all the way up to his pointed ears. “Or did they give you too good of a wake-up call?”

Nadine guessed by the way his blush deepened and his mouth curled into a guilty smile that it was probably the latter.

“Did you at least get something to eat before you left?” Nadine asked, adding: “ _Food_ , I mean.”

“Nope, I’m afraid not,” Gwilin half-giggled.

“Next time, stay at the Bee and Barb,” Nadine sighed, pulling a parcelled crostata from her pocket and handing it to Gwilin. “At least breakfast is included there.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready to do this?” Nadine asked Gwilin as the pair stood outside the door, iron-wrought and looming.

Gwilin swallowed, eyes flickering with nervousness. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Miss Nadine.”

The pair clasped hands as they breached the barrier, stepping into the doorway. A faint bell chimed, alerting the inhabitant of their arrival.

“Welcome to The Maker’s Mark, friends,” rang out a gravelly voice from behind the counter. “What can I do for you today?”

Nadine and Gwilin both craned up at the Orsimer woman addressing them. Her ears were lined with rings, all the way from the lobe to the pointed tip. More rings and studs decorated her face: two in her nose, two in her lips next to her protruding fangs, and one perched merrily on the edge of her brow. Her hair was shorn off at the sides, and the rest slicked back, accentuating her deep skin and sharp, striking features. Next to her, Nadine heard Gwilin emit a small gasp. It took everything in her power not to do the same. _By Sanguine, I’ve got a few ideas of things you can do for us..._

“Good morning, miss,” Nadine smiled, hoping her demeanour appeared more innocent than her thoughts. “We were hoping to enlist your services?” _Gods, did that sound wrong?_ “What I mean to say is, we were interested in getting a piercing or a tattoo - well, I’m interested in the last one, and -”

Thankfully, Gwilin interjected Nadine’s nervous babbling, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as he did so. “I’d like to get my ear pierced, near the tip,” he explained, with a rare confidence spiking his voice. Then, with a more familiar softness, added, “If that’d be okay.”

“Sounds good,” the Orsimer smiled, clapping her hands together with a startling suddenness. “Let’s do it.”

She led them to the back room, where her tools of the trade awaited, razor-sharp and terrifying. Gwilin sat in the chair, gripping the edges of the seat as the Orc - who had introduced herself as Gasha - gently washed his ear, applying something stringent smelling to it after doing so. Nadine watched as Gwilin shifted nervously in his seat, his eyes glinting with a mixture of nerves and desire. It was a little like being back at the Sanctum, only more sterile.

Nadine held Gwilin’s hand as his ear was pierced, doing her best to soothe and praise him as he yelped through the pain, trying not to think of her own that was about to follow. When he was done, a single gold ring adorned his left ear, glinting in the light. Gwilin nodded along diligently as he listened to Gasha’s instructions - clean the area twice a day with salt water, don’t remove the ring, and absolutely no Restoration magic to try and expedite healing.

“You’re up next, sweetheart,” Gasha said, turning to Nadine. “What would you like done?”

Nadine reached into her pocket, retrieving the folded up piece of parchment. “I’d like this tattooed, if you’re able.” She unfolded the paper, revealing the illustration - a linework drawing of a nightshade flower, simple yet intricate at the same time. Nadine had found it tucked inside a book in the Arcanaeum, and had been so struck by its beauty that she had decided to get it permanently etched in her skin.

“Fine drawing,” Gasha remarked, raising an eyebrow as she looked the page over. “Do it yourself?”

“I found it,” Nadine admitted. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? I wish I know who did it.”

“Me too,” Gasha responded. “They’d make a fine apprentice.”

Once all the necessary preparations were made, Nadine was sat up on the plinth, the template placed along her ribcage on her right side where the design was to be immortalised. Gasha was meticulous with her placement, almost infuriatingly so; then again, what Nadine was getting was permanent, so it was just as well. When she was done, Nadine glanced downwards - even the rough prototype looked stunning on her skin, her body an intriguing and unique canvas for the deadly flower.

“You ready to do this, sweetheart?” Gasha looked up at Nadine with serious hazel eyes. _Divines save me, this really_ is _like being back in the Sanctum._

“Yep,” Nadine squeaked out, skin flushing crimson.

She gasped as she saw Gasha bring the instrument to life - somewhere between a lance and a quill, quivering with arcane energy as it drew in ink. Gasha held it easily in her hand, as if it really were a quill, and made the first mark in Nadine’s skin, steadfast and sure. It cut through Nadine, hot and sharp and fierce; a sting that was intense at first, but surprisingly bearable. It helped that she had experience dealing with all manner of pain.

“You doing okay?” Gasha looked up briefly, learned concern lining her face. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”

“She’ll be fine,” Gwilin said, grinning. “She’s a masochist.”

If Gasha had heard over the faint buzz of her instrument, she didn’t let on. Nadine’s eyes drew daggers at Gwilin as her blush deepened, still riding out the pain. _Cheeky elf’s going to get an earful once we’re out of here._

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long before they were done. Once Gasha was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped - “Don’t drink so much the night before,” she warned Nadine - she applied ointment to the area and allowed Nadine to glance into the looking glass and admire her new adornment.

Nadine gasped as she gazed upon the design. It was perfect. The stem traced around from her waist to her ribcage, where the leaves rested, snaking their way up to the flower blossom which nestled just under her right breast. Gasha had perfected the linework and shading of the original, bringing it to life from the paper onto her own skin.

“It’s absolutely gorgeous, Gasha,” Nadine beamed, gazing earnestly at the Orc. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome,” Gasha smiled, lip rings glinting against her fangs. “Now listen carefully, because I’m not having you comin’ in here in two weeks time sayin’ you’ve got Ataxia or some such. You’re washing the area twice a day, wearing clean, loose clothing daily, applying this ointment to it after washing,” Gasha said, passing a jar of the same soothing balm that had been applied earlier to Nadine, “And absolutely no Restoration magic. Is that understood?”

Nadine nodded earnestly. “Yes, Mi- Gasha.” Another blush crept over her skin. She hoped Gasha didn’t notice. The pair happily paid their coin and departed, once again thanking the Orsimer for her fine work and infinite patience.

They exited The Maker’s Mark, the afternoon sun shining strong in the sky, beginning to thaw the morning’s frost somewhat. Nadine turned to Gwilin, glowering.

“Little shit! ‘She’s a masochist’,” Nadine said, her tone mocking. “I should flick your freshly pierced ear just for that.”

Gwilin flinched at the threat, giggling nervously. “Sorry, Miss Nadine. Please don’t.”

“Buy me a drink and I’ll consider sparing you,” she smiled, linking her arm in his. “Bonus points if it’s a Velvet LeChance from the Bee and Barb.”

Gwilin must have taken her threat to heart, because twenty minutes later they sat at a table in the tavern, Talen-Jei’s signature drink in front of Nadine. It even had the obligatory sprig of nightshade perched on top.

“I see you’re going for a theme,” Gwilin said as he sipped his own drink, a dragon’s tongue blossom perched atop in place of Nadine’s nightshade.

Nadine smiled. “What did you get?”

“White-Gold Tower, I think,” Gwilin said, taking another delicate sip of the beverage. “Would you like to try?”

“Oh, go on then,” Nadine said, swapping her goblet with Gwilin’s and taking a sip.

It was incredibly rich; creamy and honey-spiked, with hints of lavender and spice throughout. Any more than a few sips would have been overly decadent, but just one was divine.

“Gods, that’s good,” Nadine enthused, handing the goblet back to Gwilin. “Here, before I finish it.”

The two chatted easily as they quaffed their drinks, the firewater and the warmth of the tavern heating them through. Nadine took the nightshade sprig from her drink, giving it a quick clean with her tongue before looping it through the braid that ran through her hair.

“Never realised I had a thing for Orcs until today.” Gwilin grinned conspiratorially.

“Gods, I know,” giggled Nadine. “Think she’d be interested if I slipped a missive under her door? ‘Nadine Rielle, sexual deviant and pain slut extraordinaire at your service.’”

Gwilin laughed, shaking his head. “I think she’s committed to the job, Nadine. She didn’t seem at all amused by my masochist comment earlier.” He paused, his face taking on a more serious edge. “I… I’m genuinely sorry about that, Nadine.”

Nadine plucked the Dragon’s Tongue from Gwilin’s empty cup, tucking it behind his non-pierced ear. “Forgiven and forgotten, Gwilin.”

 

* * *

 

By the time nightfall arrived, Nadine and Gwilin were surrounded by all manner of goblets and bottles, as well as some plates and bowls. Nadine's braid had several more nightshade blossoms added to it, and Gwilin's ear had an entire bouquet of dragon's tongue tracing along its length - the pair a happy garden of drunken mirth. Their giggles bubbled up like a witches' brew, and when Brynjolf entered the tavern, he was met with raucous cheers from the pair.

"You two have had a good day then, I take it?"

“Look what Gwilin got done!” Nadine said loudly, pointing towards the Bosmer’s ear. “By a sexy Orc lady.”

Gwilin grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “And Nadine got _that_ tattooed on her!” he said, gesturing to one of the many nightshade sprigs nestled in her braid.

“Ah, to be young again,” Brynjolf smiled, shaking his head. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not sure, but we’ve room for one more,” Nadine said with a wink. “Fancy joining us?”

“I’d love to, but I’m here for business, not pleasure,” Brynjolf shrugged apologetically. “Guild work. Mercer’ll have my head if I get drunk on the job.”

“Consummate professionalism as always, Bryn,” Nadine commented wryly, speech slurring slightly as she stumbled over the larger words.

He raised an eyebrow as he dropped a coin purse on the table, its contents clinking merrily. “Next one’s on me. Maybe consider making that your last one, eh?”

“Okay, Pa,” Gwilin snarked, sticking his tongue out as Nadine giggled.

Brynjolf smiled ruefully at the drunken pair as he departed. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Gwilin turned to Nadine. “What does that leave?”

“Very bloody little.” She paused for a moment, cheeks red; partly from alcohol, partly from the man who had just departed. “So, just how badly have you fallen for him?”

Gwilin grinned sheepishly, his face crimson. “Head over heels, Nadine. And you?”

“Same," she sighed. "Hopelessly and helplessly.”


	16. The Parting Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadine gets ready to leave Daggerfall and start her adventure across Tamriel, and enjoys one last night with her family before departing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the OCtober prompt of the same name: "We've had a great month. Now it's time to say goodbye. And your OC has goodbye's to say as well- or is being sent off by those that matter."
> 
> There are two parting glasses for the price of one in this fic. Can you count them?

The Rielle family sat around the table, the wooden structure heaving under the sheer weight of the food and drink on top. Genevieve sat at the head, her sandy hair in a braided crown; as noble and graceful as any High Queen. At the other end her husband Bernart presided, jollily quaffing from his goblet of wine, brown eyes twinkling and cheeks rosied. Next to Genevieve sat Rosaline, the eldest child; a vision of her mother, with slightly more pronounced and pointed features. Her hand folded into her husband Xavier’s, their gold wedding rings shimmering in unison; his attention turned toward Bernart as he regaled him of tales of the battlefield. On the other side of the table, Sebastian sat next to his father, looking like he was trying his best not to appear bored of the conversation while sipping his wine. And next to him sat the youngest of the Rielles - Nadine, who took the scene in with a quiet contemplation, knowing this was to be the last time she would be in the same room as her family for a long while.

“So, dear sister,” Rosaline asked brightly, “Ready for your big expedition across Tamriel?”

“I think so,” Nadine said, scraping the remnants of her Sunlight Souffle from the earthen ramekin up with her spoon and popping it into her mouth. _Gods, I'll miss my mother’s cooking._ “I’ve still a few things to get, but I’m sure I can pick them up along the way.”

“Our little Nadine, off on a big adventure!” Bernart beamed, his black curls bouncing merrily as he spoke. “Just like the storybooks I used to read to you before bed. I can’t believe you’re all grown up, and about to make stories of your own.”

Nadine blushed at her father’s outburst of paternal pride. “I’m not going to be fighting dragons and running off with dashing knights, Pa,” she said, taking a large slug of her wine. “I’m just travelling, meeting new people, learning new things. I want to see as much of the beauty of Tamriel as I can.”

Nadine’s words only bolstered Bernart’s smile, the whiskers of his moustache dancing as it widened. “You always were a wandering spirit. Could barely keep you from running away from us when you were younger, could we, dear?” He called over to his wife, who busily ladled Potage le Magnifique into large, deep bowls.

“Don’t remind me,” Genevieve sighed, smiling fondly. “Between you and Sebastian, I still wake up in cold sweats.” She placed down the bowls at the table one by one as she took in her children, adoration brimming in her clear, seafoam eyes.

They all tucked into the Potage - Genevieve’s specialty, hearty and delicious, with chunks of succulent horker meat and vegetables fresh from her garden. Hints of garlic, elves’ ear and frost mirriam danced throughout, as did the richness of the ale and butter she’d liberally added. The most intriguing part was the slight metallic tang that could be made out at the end of each bite - subtle yet inviting, and gained by the addition of a Septim just before the Potage reached a rolling boil. It was the first dish Nadine had ever learned to make, and even now, it was still her favourite.

“So, where are you planning on heading first?” Xavier asked, tossing his brown curtained hair out of his face. Nadine still hadn’t made up her mind how she felt about him, but he seemed to make Rosaline happy, so she tried her best to reserve judgement.

“I’m planning on making my way across High Rock - visiting the Adamantine Tower, travelling through Stormhaven...” Nadine took a long sip of her wine as she pondered. “Then my plan is to work my way back to Northpoint, and catch the first ship to Skyrim.”

Xavier’s face crinkled in disgust at the last part of Nadine’s itinerary. “Skyrim? Whyever would you want to visit there? The only thing in that barren wasteland is freezing cold weather and a fatuous Civil War.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Nadine pressed, rankling at Xavier’s contemptuous tone. “It’s a country steeped in history and culture, with prestigious Colleges for Mages and Bards.”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t study under an Archmage in High Rock,” Rosaline said, furrowing her brow. “You could still take your lute lessons in your spare time.”

Nadine held back a sigh. Her sister lacked a basic understanding of the reason why she was leaving, and it only served to deepen the rift between the two of them. Rosaline had always been happy where she was, never having any desire to leave High Rock or even Daggerfall.

“I’ll learn more by discovering new lands and meeting new people than I will by remaining here,” Nadine shrugged. She didn’t want to argue or fight or bicker. She simply wanted to enjoy her final evening with her family, forging memories that would fortify her resolve when things got tough on her travels.

Sebastian raised his goblet, smiling at his youngest sister as he did so. “To new beginnings, and Nadine’s grand adventure. May the Eight guide you on your travels.”

The table joined him in a toast, Xavier falling over himself to concur with Sebastian’s words. _Divines' sake_ _ _,_ what an arse-kisser. _ Ever since him and Rosaline had wed, he had desperately tried to curry favour with her brother. Much to Nadine’s amusement, Sebastian’s complete obliviousness and aversion to socialisation had made this a rather one-sided endeavour.

Around the table, everyone cleared their bowls, faint noises of approval punctuating the conversation. Wine bottles were uncorked as others were emptied, goblets brimming with rich, burgundy firewater that cast the room in a gentle glow and warmed Nadine through. By the time Genevieve cleared the table for dessert any previous tension had melted away, and Nadine and her siblings laughed easily about childhood memories.

“Gods, you always cheated at parlour games! ‘The best behaved child’, my arse,” Sebastian laughed, cheeks ruddy and joy dancing in his blue-green eyes.

Rosaline gasped. “Dear brother, I would _never!_ ” Her faux-indignance was undercut by the gleeful giggles escaping her lips. “Only because you two used to cheat at hide-and-seek.”

“She’s got us there,” Nadine conceded, taking another contented sip of her wine. “Sebastian wasn’t even good at cheating. He just used to cast Magelight and hurl conkers at me.”

The three collapsed into heaps of mirth, the table shaking underneath them.

“Sebby, you didn’t!” Genevieve scolded as she sat the still-bubbling pot in the centre of the table. “Your poor, poor sister.”

“I think she’s okay,” Sebastian chuckled as Nadine’s eyes transfixed on the pot of deliciousness in front of her.

Elsweyr Fondue. It was her favourite thing in the whole world. Golden, rich decadence awaited within, slices of fresh bread and morsels of fruit and succulent, salt-cured meat surrounding it. It was just as much of a feast for the eyes as it was the stomach, and the dish sang with sweet, heady flavours of ale, moon sugar and a sumptuous mixture of cheeses. It was also a communal affair, and Nadine had never been to a Fondue where she hadn’t had a conversation as wonderful as the dish itself.

It didn’t take long for everyone to tuck in, dipping their bites of food into the rich cheese mixture and devouring them with sighs of pleasure. It was possibly the quietest the Rielle family had ever been, even if just for a few short moments. It didn’t take long for conversation to recommence - reminiscing on past occasions, discussing current events, and finally, pondering what the future might hold. As plates cleared and their goblets ran dry, they retired to the lounge, Bernart leaving to fetch a bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy to continue the festivities.

When he returned, he held a small parcel in his hands as well as the bottle. He smiled at Nadine; a faint sadness dancing amongst the mirth in his brown eyes. “We thought you might need a little help on your adventure, so we got you a parting gift.” He handed the parcel to Nadine, his hands wrapping around hers as he clasped the present in her hand.

Nadine opened the delicate paper, as careful as could be. What laid inside was the most beautiful and intricate dagger she had ever seen; glass the same colour as her mother’s eyes, with a sturdy moonstone and metal handle, bearing the mark of Yannick Beauchamp of Daggerfall City. Around the weapon, she could see strands of arcane magic pulse and dance a bright and brilliant blue; that part obviously being her parents’ work rather than the blacksmith’s.

Nadine couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, burning hot and ceaseless as she gazed in wonder at the gift she’d been given. She couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect to start her adventures with.

“Thank you so much,” she said, when she could bear to speak. Her lip quivered as she smiled at her family, gratitude and love nearly splitting her heart in half. “I’m going to miss you all so much.”

She let the sea of tears wash over her as her family enveloped her in an embrace; one mass of bodies joined in endless love and support for her.

“You always did cry at endings,” her father said, voice shaking as he hugged her tight.


	17. Ashes to Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "Loss. Show us your character's thoughts at the moment they lost something important to them - whether an object, a person, or something else entirely." Title is after the song by David Bowie.

_ Objects can be replaced _ , a voice inside soothed.  _ People, not so easily. _

It didn’t make Nadine feel any better about the pile of smouldering ash in front of her, thick strands of smoke billowing from the debris where her knapsack once sat. Nearly all that she owned had been inside that bag - letters from loved ones, journals and pet projects, instruments and books and precious keepsakes from friends she’d met along the way. Her shaking hands clawed through the still-warm remains, hoping for any remaining scraps of surviving memories.

A few had made it, but most had not. Nadine thanked the Divines for leaving her with Hannah’s hair clip and her mother’s silver ring, as well as her life. Then, letting the ashes of her past fall through her fingers, she collapsed into the pile, letting her tears wash over her.


	18. All is Full of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a different definition of the word "love". This is Nadine's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "Love. What does love mean to your character? Who do they love and why?" Named after a Björk song.

Nadine’s definition of love was probably a little different to most others’. She couldn’t see an Amulet of Mara adorning her neck in the future, nor a wedding band on her finger. Thoughts of committing herself to her one and only didn’t occupy her mind - in fact, the very idea made her laugh. She simply wasn’t that kind of woman. Her love was an infinite, all-encompassing thing; one with no commitments or bands or bonds, and as free and wild as she was.

She loved the thief with the red hair and the green eyes and the silver tongue, whose gentle brogue made her weak at the knees. She loved the other thief with hair as pale as moonlight, and how her icy exterior melted away like snow next to a warm hearth. She loved the couple who had taken her in and loved her as they loved each other, and the adventurers from a faraway land who made space for her in their own relationship. She loved the huntress, with flowing copper locks and unfathomable strength; the mage with a proclivity for turning invisible; the bard whose tales and songs reminded her of home. She loved the merchant girl's laugh and the way her red hair shone like magefire; the alchemist's intellect and passion for her craft; the woodsman's kind heart and the way his blush ran right up to his pointed ears. She even loved the assassins, their sinister exteriors giving way to softer, more nurturing sides.

Her definition of love might not be conventional, but then again, neither was she.


	19. Bad Comedian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At this point, it's a wonder Nadine doesn't go to the Huntsman for a drink instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "Enemies. Does your character have an enemy? How do they relate to them? What drives your character's conflict with their enemy?" Named after a song by Art Brut.

It had started with a brawl in a tavern, and culminated with a lute to the skull. Even now, Nadine could barely stomach being in the same room as him, but she’d be damned if she was going to change  _ her _ drinking spot just because of some obnoxious swine with a few trite bar songs and an overinflated ego. Plus, she liked to keep him in her sights, to make sure he wasn’t up to his old tricks again. Carlotta and Saadia both insisted he’d been behaving himself, but she wouldn’t put it past him to start on someone from outside Whiterun, in for a quiet drink and instead on the receiving end of the worst chat-up lines in the history of Tamriel.

That being said, apparently not everyone found them as odious as Nadine did. Her stomach twisted as she saw Ysolda giggle at one of his awful jokes, her amber eyes twinkling as he ran his fingers through his straw-blonde hair. Her hand traced the collar of his jerkin, running the fabric between her fingers as she purred something sultry in his ear. 

Nadine glowered into her tankard, slugging her mead sullenly. The honeyed sweetness of her favourite beverage had been tainted by the image in front of her, the free and easy mood of her evening thoroughly dampened.  _ What in Oblivion did she see in him?  _ She didn’t get this way when she saw Ysolda with others; just Whiterun’s worst bard.

Nadine could sing and play lute, and tell jokes far funnier than he had. She could make her smile and laugh and ignite that same fire in her eyes as he had. Gods knew she could please her - she’d had plenty of practice. And if Mikael ever broke Ysolda’s heart, she could definitely ruin another of his lutes.


	20. Constants are Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One small decision could make all the difference. Or perhaps the more things change, the more they stay the same...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following prompt: "What if? Let's start our AUs off with a classic canon divergence. Describe what happens to your character if one key event in their life turns out differently." Named after a song by Boards of Canada.

The signpost stood at the fork in the road; one way pointed towards Northpoint, the other towards the High Rock-Hammerfell border. Nadine wavered for a moment, lingering over the latter part of the signage. If she took that path, she could book carriage to Cyrodiil and be within the Imperial City in a matter of weeks. Perhaps once the winter months arrived, she could even return to Hammerfell and explore the vast expanses of desert when the weather wouldn’t be too punishing. 

Nadine furrowed her brow, troubled by her sudden impulse to change her plans. She had been intent on visiting Skyrim first - that was how her itinerary had been set out ever since she had planned her trip back home. Her cursive still scrawled across the pages of her journal -  _ venture across High Rock. Travel through Stormhaven, making stops at Wayrest and Shornhelm. Continue on to Northpoint, and book passage on the first ship to Skyrim.  _ Then again, Nadine had never been one to stick too solidly to routine. 

Perhaps Xavier had been right. The country was in the middle of a Civil War of which there appeared to be no end in sight - perhaps it’d be best to return when she’d been elsewhere; hopefully by then the dust would have settled. And Skyrim may have a rich culture and heritage, but so too did Cyrodiil - its capital city was sprawling metropolitan hub, one which was unrivalled anywhere else. Its weather would be more forgiving, the people less averse to magic. Perhaps this was the right thing to do.

Nadine looked up to the signpost a final time, following the road west until she approached the carriage driver, his horse grazing on the lush green grass underfoot.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Hammerfell border, please,” Nadine said, confidently.

 

* * *

 

Nadine sat in The All-Saints Inn, sipping tentatively on her wine. She had been in the Imperial City for a few months now, and the once-baffling network of roads and districts were now as familiar to her as the streets of Daggerfall City. Still, she felt impatient, restless. Her bones ached and blood ran with pent-up impulsivity, her lust for adventure unslaked.

“Quite the piece of glasswork you’ve got there,” a voice behind her purred, softly yet low enough to make the hairs on her arms stand on end. “Wonder if you know how to use it?”

“Care to find out?” Nadine grasped for her dagger, only to find the sheath empty. She turned around, looking nervously at the stranger in front of her.

His eyes were as stormy and steely as the grey skies of Glenumbra, with hair like polished mahogany. It swayed merrily as he laughed; a soothing, melodious noise, despite his actions. 

“Sharp of blade and of tongue,” he commented, looking over the knife. “I like that.” He held the dagger out to Nadine, handle first, disarming her with a dazzling smile.  _ By the Divines, how much wine have I had? _

“What in Oblivion are you playing at?” hissed Nadine, once she’d collected herself.

The stranger smiled. “Let’s call it an ice breaker. I’ve heard some interesting things about you, Nadine Rielle. And I was wondering if you might like to run a little job for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now officially want to write a Nadine/Grey Fox AU smut fic, so there's that.


	21. Don't Worry About the Government

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sanctum members discuss Skyrim's current political climate. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based (very loosely) on the following prompt: "Government. Who rules the roost in your setting? How do they enforce their will and laws? Alternatively, is it a lawless society? Who does YOUR character answer to?" Named after a song by Talking Heads.

“Fuck, marry, kill - Ulfric Stormcloak, General Tullius, First Emissary Elenwen.” Nadine sat back with a smug look on her face, taking a long swig of her mead. 

Brynjolf let out a low whistle. “Shit, that’s a good one, lass. Trust you to come out with one that’s political, too.” Nadine grinned in response, watching as the others raised their eyebrows and pondered the question.

“That’s easy,” Ingun piped up, running her finger around the rim of her goblet. “Fuck Elenwen. I’ve heard stories of the Emissary parties. Apparently she’s quite fun after a few goblets of wine.” She sipped her own, then continued. “Kill Tullius, then marry Ulfric - the war would be over, and the Moot would declare him the new High King.” She smiled. “Then I’d kill him too. Which would make me the High Queen.” 

“Gods, if I ever forgot you’re a Black-Briar, that just reminded me,” Brynjolf half-laughed. 

Ingun shrugged. “Worked for Elisif.”

Astrid nodded, a faint glint of pride in her eyes. “Why not think bigger? Marry Tullius, kill Ulfric, and blame the death on your dear old husband. What’s left of the Stormcloak army rebels, but the Empire is in power now, so while they’re distracted you can get to The Emperor.” Astrid lounged in her chair, toying with the mink fur that lined the arm. “Oh, and fuck that deliciously uppity First Emissary. See if she thinks her duty blacks still look intimidating when I show up in my uniform.” 

“Kyne’s sake, Astrid. It’s ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’, not ‘Kill, Kill, Kill’,” said Adrianne. “Anyway, there’s no way in Oblivion I’m fucking a Thalmor agent, so Elenwen’s off to the chopping block.” Adrianne pondered, grinning slyly. “I’d marry Tullius, then fuck Ulfric...and make Tullius watch.” The others around the table burst into laughter, Ulfberth’s booming chuckle reverberating through the Sanctum chamber.

“Tullius doesn’t do it for me, but Legate Rikke?  _ There’s _ a woman who could ride me into battle,” Vex mused, her mouth curling. Adrianne nodded sagely; Giraud assented enthusiastically. 

Drevis piped up. “We’ve a Thalmor agent at the College at the moment. All he does is scowl and skulk and ask far too many questions. But damn if he wouldn’t be a spectacular fuck.”

“Haven’t given him the invisible treatment yet, Neloren?” Nazir smirked.

“What was that you said about not mixing business and pleasure?” retorted Drevis, eyebrow raised. “I don’t make a habit of peeping on my students, Thalmor or otherwise.”

Nadine cleared her throat, looking directly at Drevis. He grinned sheepishly.

“Well, not usually anyway.”


	22. 1/5 ITEM NOT AS DESCRIBED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrianne gets her Warmaiden's orders and her Sanctum orders mixed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TurboToast for giving me the plotbun for this one. They challenged me to write a crackfic that incorporated the sexy but incredibly impractical armour trope, and with Adrianne's expertise, how could I resist?

The sun descended on Whiterun, and Adrianne downed tools to join her husband inside Warmaiden’s.

“Sinmir come by for his new armour?”

Ulfberth nodded. “Came in just after lunch. Didn’t stay long - he was too busy raving about Commander Caius, and said something about ‘whipping this town into shape’.”

Adrianne snorted, draping her apron over a chair. “Sounds like Sinmir.” She walked around the counter, running her fingers over the worn wood. “What about Bryn? He been down to pick up his new attire yet?”

“Not yet. He’d better get here soon, though. I’ll be damned if I’m dragging this heavy thing down to the Sanctum by myself.”

Adrianne looked at Ulfberth. “What do you mean, heavy? The thing consists of a few strips of leather and some steel rings.” Her eyes darted from her husband to the box that still remained on the counter. “ _Please_ tell me you gave our customer the right armour.”

Ulfberth’s brows furrowed. “Thought it was awfully light when I handed it over.”

Adrianne furiously stormed over to the counter. She prised open the box, revealing the set of Steel Plate armour she’d smithed the previous day, perfectly crafted to Sinmir’s specifications.

“Shor’s balls, Ulfberth,” Adrianne groaned, slamming the box shut. The glare she shot her husband turned him from fearless cave bear to shivering skeever. “Just for that, you _can_ drag this down to Brynjolf.” Ulfberth eyed his wife cautiously, but dared not argue. “Tell him if he’s got a problem he can take it up with Whiterun’s two least competent Nords.”

 

* * *

 

Brynjolf opened the box he’d received from a surly Ulfberth, who muttered something about “talking to Adrianne if he had any issues”.

 _Hmm._ Steel Plate armour in place of a leather body harness _might_ be an issue, but he was nothing if not resourceful. He climbed into the heavy greaves and boots, and strapped on the chestpiece and gauntlets. The suit weighed a ton, and it would arguably be harder to get out of than into, and in retrospect, not having worn a loincloth underneath was a poor choice. But the codpiece was rather striking, and the helm gave the whole ensemble an air of mystery that he liked.

All being said, he’d fucked in worse outfits.

Proud and cocksure, he strode out into the Sanctum, trying to ignore the obnoxious clank of metal as he walked. He descended the steps to the Arena, settling into his role as dashing knight as he approached Nadine from behind.

“Evening, lass,” Brynjolf murmured, lifting the visor of his helmet. “Care for a ride on my steed?”

Nadine turned around, her initial look of surprise quickly shifting to amusement, then unabashed mirth as she burst into peals of laughter. When it had subsided, she choked out: “Brynjolf, why the _fuck_ are you wearing a suit of armour?”

Brynjolf frowned. “Must’ve been a mix-up on Adrianne’s end. Anyway, thought I’d try something new.”

“Well, it’s certainly different,” Nadine giggled, clasping her hands to her cheek in mock distress. “Oh, brave Sir Brynjolf, _please_ don’t impale me with your greatsword!”

Brynjolf glowered. “If you’re not going to take this seriously…”

“Oh, don’t get in a snit, Bryn,” Nadine said, hand on hip. “When have you _ever_ taken anything seriously?”

“You raise a good point, lass,” he smiled, wrapping his gauntleted hand around Nadine’s waist. “So, you were saying you _didn’t_ want this?”

Giggles bubbled from Nadine once again. “That gesture would’ve worked much better without the clanking.”

 

* * *

 

Adrianne stoked the fire of the forge before going to unlock the door to Warmaiden’s. As she approached the entrance, she noticed a note attached to it, a steel arrow holding it in place. She prised the arrowhead free, tucking the note in her apron pocket. As she settled in for the morning, eating her breakfast, she read.

 

_Adrianne,_

_Don’t know what kind of armour this is meant to be. Gave me no protection from the elements or enemy attacks. Seemed to distract bandits and onlookers, but didn’t stop their arrows from piercing my thigh. Nearly got arrested by the city guard for public indecency._

_I ordered a full set of Steel Plate from you. This is not Steel Plate. I ask you have Ulfberth deliver my rightful armour to me at the Bannered Mare at once. I will keep the other set of armour as compensation, as I like the fit around the rear._

_Regards,  
_ _Sinmir_

 

“Wood’s chopped for the for-” Ulfberth’s sentence was cut short by Adrianne’s fit of hysterics. Tears rolled down her face, and she laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Seeing her husband’s puzzled face, she gestured to the letter, watching as he descended into fits of hearty laughter himself.

“Looks like Sinmir finally whipped Whiterun into shape,” Adrianne quipped, wiping the tears from her face.

Ulfberth grinned. “Maybe we should include an actual whip next time.”


End file.
